


When Douglas Met Arthur

by Shappeybunny (Jaffacakeaddict)



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur's First Day, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Teenage Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaffacakeaddict/pseuds/Shappeybunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Captain Douglas Richardson meets his boss's teenage son and future Steward of the Airplane Arthur Shappey for the first time, and thinks he might be stoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pisa

**When Douglas Met Arthur**

 

**Chapter One: Pisa**

The first time Douglas met Arthur, he thought the boy was on something. After less than five minutes in his company, however, he came to the inescapable conclusion that he was actually just really,  _really_ stupid. 

Carolyn had come into the flight deck shortly before take-off, talked about the weather for thirty seconds, then casually mentioned, as she was halfway out of the door, that they had a visitor.

"A visitor? Who?"

"My son, Arthur. He's very excited about meeting the pilots."

And with that she hurried off, before either of them could protest.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Kevin, "As if we haven't got enough to do without babysitting her kid as well. Well, he's not trying on my hat, I'll tell you that much."

Kevin was a bit of a moaner, but Douglas was inclined to agree with him.

"Hello! Are you the pilots?"

Douglas had expected, from the way Carolyn talked about him, that Arthur would be one of those annoying plane-obsessed eleven or twelve year olds who spent far too much of their time building Airfix model planes instead of going outside and playing with their friends, but he turned out to be a sturdy, nearly six-foot late teen in a presumably ironic _"I Saw The Tigers At Whipsnade"_ t-shirt and a Fitton Airport Visitors' badge with his name written on it in childish, careful capitals.

Douglas and Kevin looked at him incredulously, then at each other - dressed in their pilots' uniforms, sitting in the cockpit of the airplane - then back at Arthur. Finally, after what seemed like an embarrassingly long time waiting for the penny to drop, Douglas said, dryly,

"Yes, as you have so astutely observed, we are indeed the pilots. Viz: our hats and our uniforms."

Beside him Kevin sniggered.

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Arthur. "I'm Arthur."

"We know," said Douglas.

"Oh, right, of course, because Mum told you."

"Ye-es. And also because you're wearing a little badge with your name on it."

"Oh, yeah. Ha ha. So are you the Captain?"

Douglas sighed. Apparently it was his day for answering patently obvious questions.

"That's right."

"Brilliant. I used to want to be a pilot too, but I'm really terrible at maths, and apparently there's a  _surprising_  amount of maths involved in flying a plane."

He looked so horrified that Douglas couldn't help laughing.

"You're not wrong there. I'm Douglas, by the way. Douglas Richardson."

"Pleased to meet you," said Arthur at once, sticking out his hand for Douglas to shake.

Well, he's polite, thought Douglas, shaking it. And harmless enough, although he could see why Carolyn might not have mentioned him much before.

Arthur had a surprisingly firm handshake. He offered his hand to Kevin, who shook it reluctantly.

"Kevin," he muttered.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Arthur."

"We know," said Douglas. “We've done that bit.”

"This used to be my dad's plane."

"This, we also know."

"This is great, though, 'cos he never let me come into the flight deck."

"Can't imagine why," said Kevin, winking at Douglas.

“Well, it was because he thought I might break something,” said Arthur, helpfully.

For a few moments, the pilots just stared back at him, for once lost for a snappy reply. It was beginning to dawn on them that they were dealing with someone with a faulty sarcasm detector.

"So where are you flying to today?"

"Er... Pisa."

"Oh, wow, is that where pizza comes from?"

Kevin gave a snort of disbelief. " _Pisa_ , not pizza! With an S. And  _no_ , it's  _not_  where pizza comes from."

"Well…" cut in Douglas thoughtfully, "It sort of  _is_  where pizza comes from. Pisa's in Italy, where pizza was invented. It's not like we're flying to, ooh, I don't know…  _Moscow_."

Kevin looked annoyed at being corrected, and Douglas couldn't help feeling rather gratified.

“Brilliant!” said Arthur, happily. “I love pizza! What's your favourite topping? Mine's Hawaiian. I mean, you wouldn't think that meat and fruit would go together, would you, but somehow they do!”

Douglas wondered if Arthur was stoned. It would certainly explain the ironic t-shirt, the love of pizza, and the brain that seemed to operate about three minutes behind everyone else's. Carolyn presumably didn't notice the signs.

“Although I suppose you can have apple sauce with roast pork, and turkey with cranberry sauce at Christmas, so _some_ meat _does_ go with _some_ fruit, but you wouldn't have, say, satsumas with chicken.” He made a revolted face. “That would just be _weird_.”

“Duck a l'orange?” suggested Douglas.

“Oh, what's that?”

“Well, it's _duck._ In _orange_. Actually, there are rather a lot of dishes that combine meat and fruit. Many Oriental dishes contain pineapple, for instance. Sweet and sour pork. Duck in plum sauce. Curries, of course. Prunes and apricots are common ingredients in North African cuisine too. And Japanese sushi often combines fruit and fish. Actually, there probably aren't many world cuisines that don't feature combinations of meat and fruit together.”

“ _Wow,_ ” exclaimed Arthur, impressed. “I didn't know that.”

No, Douglas decided, that t-shirt wasn't ironic at all. Either Arthur had suffered some sort of catastrophic head injury as a child, or he was just incredibly, unbelievably  _dim_. It was not really something you could ask:  _"Is there actually something wrong with you, or are you just stupid?"_  Either way, he decided to tone it down a bit, until he knew for sure. Besides, half the fun of teasing was the person's reaction. There was no point when it all just went over their head.

Kevin had no such compunction.

"So, how old are you, Arthur?" he asked, adopting the slow, patronising tone that people often used to talk to the elderly, or people in wheelchairs.

"Nearly eighteen!" exclaimed Arthur, proudly.

"Nearly eighteen, eh? I expect you're off to university next year then, are you?"

"No, I -"

"So which is it, Oxford or Cambridge?"

"Neither -"

"You do surprise me! I could have sworn you were Oxbridge material, wouldn't you agree, Douglas?"

Douglas kept quiet. Kevin, he was only too aware, was a little bit in awe of Douglas. He tried too hard to keep up with Douglas and Carolyn's quick wit, and usually failed, because it didn't come naturally to him, and because he didn't seem to understand that it was supposed to be a  _joke_. There was a point where taking the piss crossed the line into a particularly nasty kind of bullying, and at the moment Kevin had at least a toe across it.

"No, I've left school," said Arthur, unperturbed, "I've got a job in a garden centre. It's only three days a week, but I love it. I work in the café. I worked on the till for a couple of days when I first started, but then they said they thought my, er,  _skillset would be better utilised elsewhere_ , so now I clean the tables and collect the trays instead."

"Sounds like a  _great_  job," said Kevin, sarcastically.

"It is! I get to meet new people every day, and be helpful, and I  _love_ being helpful. It's, like, the thing I'm best at."

"I bet."

"And of course, it'll be really useful experience -"

"Well, people will always need their trays collecting," said Kevin, winking at Douglas.

"- when I go on the cabin crew course."

That wiped the grin off Kevin's face.

" _You_ … want to be cabin crew?" he asked, weakly.

"Yeah! And I'll definitely pass it, I reckon, 'cos I've got loads of experience in the service industry. And Mum says I can come and work here, until I find a proper job. Isn't that brilliant? I'll be working here, on the plane, with you!"

That wiped the grins off  _both_  of their faces.

" _Here_ … on the plane… with  _us?_ " repeated Douglas, appalled.

"Yeah! It's gonna be  _great!_ "

"And when are you taking this course?"

"Oh, I can't go on it 'til I'm eighteen, so not for at least four months. Although thinking about it, it's supposed to be a secret, so it's probably best if you don't mention anything to Mum. Can I try on your hat?"

 _"No,"_  said Douglas, firmly.

"OK. Can I sit in your chair, then? I won't touch anything."

"No, I don't think so. We're actually rather busy, so…"

"So, Arthur..." interrupted Kevin, a new edge of danger in his voice, "Got a girlfriend, have you?"

Arthur's grin momentarily faltered. "No-oo..."

"You  _do_  surprise me."

"Well, I  _did_  have, in the summer, but we split up."

Douglas found himself almost cheering Arthur on in this little battle of - well, not  _wits_ , certainly. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't a fair fight.

"Oh, what a shame,” said Kevin, ironically. “Why was that, then?"

A shrug. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. It was all a bit confusing. She said she didn't want to be my girlfriend anymore. Well, no, she said she  _wasn't_  my girlfriend and I should stop telling people she was, but she definitely  _was_  my girlfriend, so…"

"Oh, well, I'm sure if  _she_  said she wasn't your girlfriend, but  _you_  say she was, she  _definitely was_."

"Exactly!" beamed Arthur, his enthusiasm returning full-blast. "That's what  _I_  said!"

Kevin turned to Douglas and raised his eyebrows. Douglas kept his expression pointedly neutral. If Arthur was Poland and Kevin was Nazi Germany, Douglas was going to be Switzerland.

To be fair, Arthur's comment about this having once been his dad's private plane probably hadn't helped the situation. Kevin had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide where the sons and daughters of privilege were concerned. He liked to think of himself as a working-class boy made good, although in reality he was merely the  _son_  of a working-class boy made good, his father having made his money in frozen foods and used it to buy his children the best education he could afford.

Aged twelve, Kevin found himself suddenly plucked from his Essex comprehensive and sent to a very exclusive boarding school, where he stood out like a sore thumb for both his accent and his background. He had been utterly miserable there, and seemed to hold every public schoolboy (like Douglas), anyone with a double-barrelled surname (like Carolyn), or just anyone he suspected of being a “posho”, as though they were somehow personally responsible for his misery.

As fas as Kevin was concerned, he was a maverick, one of the few pilots who had made it through sheer hard work rather than the old school tie network, conveniently forgetting that his father had paid his way through flying school, and he'd been to _Harrow._

This attitude did not, unsurprisingly, make him very popular with other pilots, which was why he had ended up working at MJN Air. With a larger airline, pilots could swap shifts to minimise the time they had to spend with him. With a tinpot little one-plane operation like MJN, Douglas, as the only other pilot on the staff, had no choice in the matter. And a tinpot little one-plane operation like MJN could not afford to be fussy about the quality of pilots it employed. Or, apparently, stewards.

Douglas was expecting the usual bitter rant about nepotism once Arthur had gone; it made him feel tired just thinking about it. Actually, as Carolyn was the daughter of a sweet shop owner from Lancashire, Arthur was from pretty much the same kind of background as Kevin himself, and by no means one of those swaggering, entitled posh boys that Kevin resented so much.

Besides, as a parent himself, Douglas had some sympathy for Carolyn. If she didn't give her son a leg-up, he could very well be collecting trays in a garden centre cafe for the rest of his life. Douglas couldn't help thinking that he would probably do the same in her position, and so would Kevin, in the unfortunate event that one of his children turned out to be an idiot.

Feeling he should steer the conversation onto safer ground, he asked aloud, "So, Arthur... did you enjoy Whipsnade?"

Arthur looked momentarily blank. "How did you know I went there?"

Douglas nodded in the direction of his t-shirt. And waited. And waited.

"Your clothing advertises the fact," he said, finally.

"What? Oh, yeah, 'cos it says so on my... Yeah, it was brilliant! We saw the tigers!"

"Did you  _really?_  Were they "brilliant"?"

"They were! But the  _best_  thing they had were pygmy hippos. They're just like normal hippos, but, you know…"

" _Smaller_ , yes. I  _think_  I understand the concept."

"And - and we saw lemurs and rhinos and bears!"

"Oh, my. Any flying monkeys?"

"Oh, I don't know. There  _were_  some monkeys, but I don't think they were flying ones."

"Hmm. Sounds like a great day out."

"It was! And it was my birthday as well, so it was even more brilliant!"

A short silence followed this pronouncement, broken eventually by Kevin's incredulous, "You went to the  _zoo_  on your  _birthday?_ "

"Yeah."

"Your  _seventeenth_  birthday?" asked Douglas.

"Yeah, it was great!"

"With your Mum?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Of course," said Kevin, dryly. "Who else would you have gone with?"

"Why," asked Arthur, eagerly, "What did  _you_  do on your seventeenth birthday?"

Douglas considered for a moment. He had a hazy recollection of absconding from school for the afternoon, drinking his weight in beer in the village pub, and ending the night getting a birthday blow job from the landlady. In a cupboard.

"I really can't remember," he said aloud. "It was a very long time ago. What about you, Kevin?"

"I can't remember either," said Kevin, "But I'm pretty sure it involved beer and girls and  _didn't_  involve going to the  _zoo_ with my  _Mum_. What did you get for your birthday, Arthur; new Action-Man?  _Crayons?_ "

Douglas shot him one of his finest glares, but Kevin ignored him. Fortunately, like everything else, it just sailed over Arthur's head.

"No, why would I get crayons? No, I got loads of stuff, but the best thing was from my friend Neil. He got me one of those little dogs that you put in your car. You know, the nodding ones. Oh, what are they called?"

 _"Nodding dogs?"_  suggested Douglas. God knows he was trying, but Arthur just made it too easy.

"Yeah! That's the ones! Anyway, I got one of those."

"Have you  _got_  a car, Arthur?"

"Not yet, but I'm taking driving lessons, so I'm hoping to get one soon. Mum says she'll buy me one when I pass my test."

"Y _ou're_  taking driving lessons?" repeated Kevin.

"Yeah."

"God help us all."

"What sort of car would you like?" asked Douglas, continuing as though Kevin had not spoken.  

"Ooh, I don't know, I haven't really thought about it. I don't know much about cars. I don't mind, really. It's really nice of Mum to buy me one, so I can't complain, can I?"

"No," agreed Douglas. "That would be churlish."

Arthur blinked. "What-ish?"

"Ungrateful."

"Oh. Yeah, it would. What sort of car have you got?"

"Well,  _now_  I've got a 1972 Triumph Herald, which is a very nice car indeed, but when I was your age, my first car was a fifth-hand Ford Anglia with plastic seats that melted the skin off your legs in hot weather, and a coathanger for an aerial. If I'm honest with you, though, I'm not sure I wouldn't rather still have the Anglia. I certainly had a lot more  _fun_  in it."

Arthur beamed at him. "It sounds great!"

"It was," sighed Douglas, reminiscently. "I drove it to the South of France once, with a girl. Susan - well, I forget her surname. We stayed on a campsite with no running water. Drank lots of cheap red wine, it was about 4p a bottle in those days. Made love in the sunshine. I was eighteen. Felt like the summer would never end. To this day I still get a Proustian rush from the scent of lavender -"

Beside him Kevin gave an embarrassed snigger, and Douglas snapped back to the present, annoyed.

"Why did your car smell like lavender?" asked Arthur, curiously.

"Because the campsite was next to a lavender field. Provence is full of them. Swathes of purple, every summer. It's really beautiful. You should go, when you get your licence."

"Yeah, let him loose on the Frogs instead!" chuckled Kevin.

"Of course, the wine's not quite as cheap as it was," Douglas continued, ignoring him, "And I'm definitely not recommending you drink and drive, although everyone did it back then…"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," shrugged Arthur. "I don't really drink."

Kevin gaped at him. "You don't  _drink?_ "

"Nope."

"Why not?" demanded Kevin. He seemed almost affronted by the very idea.

"Maybe he's allergic," Douglas suggested helpfully.

Arthur shook his head. "No, I just don't really like the taste of it. Although I  _am_  allergic to strawberries…"

Kevin gave a derisory laugh. "Is that even possible?"

"Well, obviously it  _is_ possible," Douglas pointed out dryly, "As you've just met someone who is."

"What happens if you eat a strawberry, then?" asked Kevin. "Come out in a rash, do you?"

"No, my lips go all tingly and my throat swells up and I can't breathe properly."

He said this quite cheerfully, as though describing the symptoms of a mild head cold.

"Right," said Douglas, "That actually sounds quite… serious?"

"Oh, it’s fine," said Arthur, waving an airy hand, "I've had to go to hospital a few times. I'm glad I don't come out in a rash, though. That sounds  _itchy_."

"Yes, obviously that would be  _much_ worse."

"Exactly! Like when you get a new jumper for Christmas, and you can't wait to try it on, but it's all horrible and scratchy. It's funny, because sheep are really soft, but sheep's' wool is really itchy. Why  _is_  that, do you think?"

"An excellent question," said Douglas, "And one which I'm afraid we couldn't possibly answer in sufficient detail now, as we're about to fly a plane."

"Are you?" asked Arthur, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “What,  _now?_ ”

" _Yes_ , now. That is why we are sitting in the cockpit of the plane dressed as pilots."

"Brilliant! Can I come with you and be the steward? Like... a test run?"

"No."

“Oh, OK. Why not?”

“Well, firstly, because we're about to fly to Italy, and I'm taking a wild guess that you don't just  _happen_  to have your passport on you, secondly, because it's  _illegal_ , and thirdly, because  _just_   _no._ ”

“OK, then,” said Arthur, utterly undeterred by this setback. “So, what does the steward actually  _do?_ "

"Well… we don't have a steward. We have your mum, when we have passenger flights, but most of the time it's just cargo, like today, so we don't need one."

“Why not?”

"Well... the cargo doesn't usually require someone to make it _coffee._ "

"Oh, OK. But what would the steward do if you had one?"

"Clean the cabin, make passenger announcements, serve meals -”

"Collect the trays…" grinned Kevin.

"Oh, do you have trays here as well?"

"Yes," said Douglas. "Yes, we do. Tiny, tiny trays."

"Brilliant!"

"You're obviously a young man of great ambition," said Douglas, wryly.

"Thanks!” beamed Arthur, “I  _am!_ And maybe, when I'm the steward, I could come on the cargo flights anyway? Just for fun. Hey, I could make the coffee for you! I'm really, really good at making coffee.”

“Well, wouldn't that be a delight?”

“Ooh, I could look after the cargo!”

“Yeah, you could sit in the hold,” suggested Kevin, trying not to laugh.

“ _Great!”_

“Yes, there's just the tiniest problem with that idea, Arthur, that I fear my first officer may have overlooked. It's really  _quite cold_... in the hold.”

“Oh, would I need to put a coat on?”

Carolyn stuck her head around the door before either of them had the chance to say something sarcastic in reply.

"Come on, Arthur. You've got a driving lesson in half an hour, and the pilots have got a plane to fly."

"OK, Mum. Nice to meet you," he said cheerfully, to Douglas. "Thanks for showing me around. It was  _great_."

"The pleasure was all ours, I can assure you."

"Nice to meet you, Kevin."

Kevin mumbled a grudging goodbye.

"Come  _on_ , Arthur!" barked Carolyn, from the galley.

"Coming, Mum." He gave a cheery wave. "'Bye! Thanks again!"

The moment the door had closed behind him, Kevin turned to Douglas, mouth hanging open in a parody of shock.

"Jesus  _Christ_. Is she joking? We can't have him working on the plane. Kid's obviously a moron. He probably can't even boil a kettle."

Douglas just shrugged and smiled. "To be fair, it doesn't really matter if he can't. It's not us he'll be serving. It's the passengers that should be worried."

"If he starts working here, I'm off. It's nepotism, that's what it is. Plain and simple."

"Well, if he passes the course…"

"Oh, come on! You met him; he's an idiot. There's no  _way_  he'll pass the course."

"You've got nothing to worry about then, have you?"

Kevin snorted. "Yeah, well… I'm just saying… if she's got the money to pay her bloody son to make the coffee, I don't see why she can't employ a nice young stewardess instead. Someone a bit more easy on the eye, if you know what I mean."

"Hmm," said Douglas thoughtfully, "But assuming she's  _not_  going to do that, which would you prefer? Having Carolyn - our  _boss_  - take on cabin crew duties whenever we carry passengers… or her not very bright teenage son, who probably wouldn't notice if you smuggled half a ton of cocaine under his nose?"

Kevin laughed. "I like your thinking, Dougie boy! That's a good point that, very good. We could probably get away with murder if we wanted."

“Well, I wasn't thinking  _murder_ , but yes… I rather think we could turn the situation to our advantage…"

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you thought if you have the time - I always reply!   
> shappeybunny x


	2. Tallinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur starts work at MJN, and nobody is delighted about it.

  
  **Chapter Two: Tallinn**

 It was almost a year later when Arthur came to work at MJN. He was an inch or so taller, but no less irritatingly enthusiastic. By lunchtime on his first day they were already sick of him. It was only a cargo flight, but Carolyn wanted to give him a dry run before letting him let loose on paying customers. Unfortunately, this meant that there was nothing much for him to do except bother the pilots.

"Tea? Coffee?" he asked, bouncing into the flight deck for the umpteenth time that morning.

"No, thank you, Arthur," said Douglas, though gritted teeth. "I think we've had enough tea for one day."

"Cocoa? Squash? Water? Gin?"

_"Gin?"_

"Yeah, we've got some of those little miniatures. Do you want one? There's tonic as well."

"Not while I'm flying a  _plane_ , no."

"Oh, OK. Orange juice? Apple juice? Grapefr-"

"No drinks, thank you."

"None at all?" He sounded disappointed.

“No offence, Arthur, but we're really quite busy here trying to fly an aeroplane. Do you think maybe you could find something else to do, somewhere else that isn't the flight deck?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry. I'm just so excited to be working with you!”

“Well, that's lovely. But please, be excited  _somewhere else_.”

“Sorry, Douglas.” He stood there uncertainly for a moment. "What should I do, then?"

"Clean something," muttered Kevin.

"Oh, OK. What should I clean?"

"The toilets?"

"Righto. I'll do that, then. Thanks, Kevin!"

When he'd gone, Kevin burst out laughing. "Can you believe that? I reckon he'd jump off a cliff if you told him to. You know, this could be more fun than we thought!"

 

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, Douglas and Kevin took shameless advantage, spending much of their time devising fools' errands to send him on, and having a great deal of fun making jokes at his expense. Kevin, especially, delighted in the fact that Arthur would basically do whatever he was told to do without question.

"Windscreen's looking a bit grubby, Arthur. Couldn't just pop out and give it a bit of a polish, could you?"

"You busy, Arthur? Couldn't just nip into town and pick up my spare uniform from the dry cleaners, could you?"

"If you're not doing anything, maybe you could put that little mini-Hoover to use and give my car a quick once-over?"

After a month of this, however, even Kevin had tired of the joke. Both pilots found that Arthur's unremitting cheeriness grated to the point that they would sometimes forgo their tea just to avoid having to talk to him. They no longer engaged him in conversation for their own amusement, and even Arthur had begun to be aware that they weren't very happy with his presence on the plane. He seemed quite nervous around them now, which meant he was even more likely to get things wrong. Things couldn't carry on like this indefinitely, and on a flight to Tallinn, everything came to a head.

Arthur wasn't well. He'd had a persistent cough for over two weeks now. It wasn't serious, just one of those niggling illnesses often suffered by new airline crew unused to the dry air in the cabin. For Douglas and Kevin, however, his constant throat-clearing and coughing was driving them to the brink of insanity. A few nights before, Kevin had been forced to share a room with Arthur on a stopover, and been kept awake all night by a hacking cough that he could still hear even through his ear plugs. Everyone was exhausted and fractious, especially Douglas, who'd had to listen to Kevin complaining about it ever since.

It didn't help that Douglas had a lot of other distractions on his mind. In six weeks, his life was going to change forever. He was going to be a father again. In truth, he had somewhat mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, it was a wonderful, joyous, completely unexpected miracle that sometimes made him just start smiling for no reason at all. And on the other... well, he had already done the family man thing, twenty years ago, and he'd pretty royally screwed it up the first time around. He already had one ex-wife who hated him and a nearly grown-up daughter who refused to have anything to do with him. Laura's pregnancy had stirred up a lot of feelings of guilt and regret that he usually did a reasonable job of keeping suppressed. Consequently, Douglas had not been sleeping very well lately. He should probably try and get as much sleep as he could, because there wouldn't be much opportunity when the baby came, but it wasn't so easy when you were lying awake at four in the morning and couldn't switch off your brain.

“For God's  _sake_ , Arthur,” snapped Kevin, as Arthur came in with the tea tray. “Won't you  _please_ do something about that  _bloody_  cough?”

"Sorry!  _Cough_. I've got some cough -  _cough_  - medicine, but I don't think it's -  _cough_  – working."

“Did you just cough into my cup?”

“Don't –  _cough_  – think so.”

"I'm not drinking that,” said Kevin indignantly, “It'll be full of your germs!"

"Sorry, Kevin. I'm really -  _cough_  - sorry. I'll -  _cough_  - make you another one."

"Oh, don't bother."

"No, I want to. It's –  _cough_  - fine. I - I'll go and –  _cough_  - do it now."

"Just try not to cough into it this time."

"Sorry," said Arthur again, backing away from Kevin and thus not paying proper attention as he put Douglas's cup in the cup holder. Boiling hot liquid surged across the control panel, and over Douglas's reaching hand.

Douglas let out a yell of pain and jumped to his feet.

" _Christ!_  You  _stupid_ …  _bloody_ …"

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

"Jesus  _Christ,_ Arthur! You have one thing to do,  _one thing_ , and you can't even do  _that_  without screwing it up! How hard is it make a cup of tea? What the  _hell_  is wrong with you?"

"I… don't know..." said Arthur, faintly. He seemed to have gone rigid with shock.

"Oh, my  _God!_  It was a rhetorical question!"

"Sorry. I didn't… I don't… Sorry."

Douglas dived into the nearest drawer for some paper napkins to clean up the mess.

"I mean, why are you even  _here,_  anyway? We don't need a steward on cargo flights. Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"I just like being here, that's all. I - I want to be helpful."

"Well, you're  _not_ being helpful. What  _you_  are, Arthur, is the exact  _opposite_  of helpful." He swore loudly. "Look what you've  _done!”_

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I -"

"Don't be sorry, just don't  _do_  it!”

"Sorry! I'm really sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Stop  _saying_  that! Oh,  _hell_ , it's gone all over the controls!"

Arthur dashed forward and tried to take some of the napkins from Douglas's hand.

"Here, let me help -"

"No, leave it. You've helped enough."

"But -"

 _"LEAVE IT!"_ bellowed Douglas.

Arthur was shocked into silence. He opened his mouth and closed it again, but no sound came out.

"Go very far away,” spat Douglas, angrily. " _NOW!"_

Arthur stood there for a moment uncertainly, then mumbled a last, tearful, "Sorry!" and turned and fled into the galley.

 

* * *

 

Douglas stood at the sink in the galley, running his hand under the cold tap, and swearing under his breath. He was still angry, but now there was guilt creeping in too. There was no sign of Arthur. Presumably he had taken Douglas at his word and was now hiding somewhere in the cabin. Well, good. He'd  _better_  keep out of his way. Alright, perhaps Douglas had over-reacted just a tad, but it was hard to stay calm when someone threw scalding tea over your hand. Why the hell should he feel guilty about it?

"I think we should say something," said Kevin, seizing his chance the moment Douglas had settled back into his seat.

"To be honest, Kevin, I rather think he got the message."

"Not to  _him_. To Carolyn. Tell her we can't have him working here anymore."

Douglas frowned. "Isn't that a bit drastic?"

"I don't think so. Anyway, it's not like she'll be surprised. She obviously  _knows_  he's an idiot."

"Well…"

"Look, it's a safety issue. He nearly short-circuited the controls."

"By accident!"

"We're flying a  _plane_ , Douglas. How many accidents can we afford to have?"

Douglas didn't know what to say to that. "Well…" he said grudgingly, "I will concede that perhaps working on an aeroplane isn't Arthur's forte."

"Exactly! Kid's a liability. He'll be better off back in the garden centre, collecting the trays. At least there he can't bring down any airplanes."

Douglas sighed. "Alright. You're right."

"'Course I'm right. We'll tell her when we get back to Fitton.  _Together._  She can't argue if it's both of us, can she?"

"No," said Douglas, heavily. "I suppose not."

 

* * *

 

At Tallinn, there was a three-hour stopover while the cargo was unloaded. Sick of Kevin's company, Douglas muttered an excuse and went to eat lunch on his own. He sat and drank green tea and watched the little plates of sushi going round and round the carousel, and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his bandaged hand.

What they were about to do was for the best, he told himself. Arthur would be much better off in another job elsewhere. Something more suited to his particular skillset, whatever the hell that was. Cleaning toilets in McDonalds, probably. He'd certainly had plenty of experience of  _that_  over the last month.

There was that guilt again, bubbling up in his stomach like acid and ruining his lunch. He pushed away his plate of teriyaki salmon, feeling suddenly nauseous. Why  _should_ he feel guilty? Everything he'd said was  _true_ , wasn't it? OK, maybe he could have phrased things a bit better, but still… it was all true. As a steward, Arthur was a disaster, even when he wasn't throwing hot tea over the control panel. He seemed to have the memory of a goldfish, so if you asked him to do something, he'd have forgotten about it ten seconds later. You had to tell him everything about five times. It was infuriating. He didn't seem to understand the basic operation of a microwave either, so all their meals were either burnt to a crisp or still semi-raw. But most of all, he was just so bloody  _chirpy_. At six in the morning, having had only a couple of hours sleep, and only really awake at all because he'd drunk three espressos, chirpiness was the very last thing Douglas wanted to deal with.

Soon, of course, he was going to be getting even  _less_  sleep.

It had taken him several months to come to terms with the idea of being a father again. Perhaps he still hadn't. It hadn't helped that he'd expected Laura's big announcement to be something quite different. They hadn't been getting on for a while. It had started to become apparent to Douglas that his second marriage was heading down the same slippery slope as his first. He hadn't done anything about it, apart from spend a bit longer in the bar and a bit less time at home. The end seemed inevitable. He'd fought desperately for it last time, and it hadn't made a blind bit of difference. He had lost everything. He couldn't bear to admit that it was happening all over again, so he just pretended it wasn't. When Laura said they “needed to talk”, he had jumped to the obvious conclusion. And then, instead... yes, Laura was crying, but with happiness, not despair, and suddenly Douglas's  future was looking very different indeed.

He wasn't there for the birth of his first child – well, men weren't, in those days. He was in a bar somewhere, wetting the baby's head before it had even been born. That was pretty much the story of his first marriage, right there. Anne was at home with the baby, and Douglas was somewhere else, usually in a different country, on a plane, or in a bar, or, too often, in the bed of a beautiful young stewardess. But then, what did she expect, when she married an airline pilot? It wasn't his fault he was away a lot; it was part and parcel of the job. That wasn't going to change any time soon, either. He could probably spend a bit less time in bars, though. Well, he was going to  _have_  to, unless he wanted another divorce, another ex-wife who hated him, and another daughter who wouldn't recognise him if they walked past each other on the street.

Claire was in her first year at Edinburgh University, studying Botany. Out in the world on her own, an adult in everyone's eyes but his. She didn't need him anymore, if she ever did. He still hoped desperately that one day she would get in touch again, but that hope faded a little bit more with each year that passed. He had written her a letter with the news about her new half-sister, but she hadn't replied, just as she never replied to or even acknowledged any of the cards or presents he'd sent in the seven years since the divorce. Douglas was afraid that she might think she was being replaced, that he no longer thought about her every day, missed her every day, now that he had a new family. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The only reason he knew what Claire was doing or even what she looked like now was that her godmother - also, coincidentally, an ex of his - kept him updated with letters and photographs. Not enough of them, not nearly enough, but it was all he had. He kept them in a box in the bottom of his wardrobe. Sometimes, when he was alone in the house, he pulled them out and just looked at them. The twice-yearly letters from Claire's godmother were a source of great joy, but also great pain. They only served as a reminder that he and his daughter were strangers now.

Well, things were going to be different this time. He was 45, not 25. His rabble-rousing days were over. Maybe this was what he and Laura needed, to save their marriage. Maybe a child would bring them closer together. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do, he would do it. He had already sold his beloved vintage car; traded it in for something dull and sensible with room for a child seat. Yes, things were going to be very different this time. Douglas was going to be there for every birthday, every important moment in his daughter's life. He was lucky to get a second chance at all, he knew that. A second chance that he really didn't deserve.

 

* * *

 

Back on the plane, Douglas had to walk through the galley to get to the flight deck. Arthur was slumped almost horizontally in his seat, his legs stretched out across the aisle, staring miserably at the wall. He scrambled to his feet when Douglas walked in, and cleared his throat as though he wanted to say something, but the grim look on Douglas's face stopped him in his tracks. Douglas could feel Arthur's eyes boring into the back of his neck as he pushed open the door to the flight deck.

Kevin was already there, reading the paper and scoffing a packet of crisps, with his feet up on Douglas's chair. He removed them quickly when Douglas entered.

"Have you said something?" asked Douglas, pointedly brushing crisp crumbs off his seat.

"Eh?"

"To Arthur. He looks like a condemned man waiting for the scaffold."

"Well, he must  _suspect_ , surely? No, I haven't said anything. Haven't seen him, to be honest. He must have got here after I did."

Half an hour into the flight Kevin buzzed the intercom.

"Might as well get our money's worth while he's still here," he said to Douglas, with a grin.  _"Alright, Arthur? Couldn't just pop up to the flight deck for a moment, could you?"_

Arthur pushed open the door and hovered nervously in the doorway. He clearly expected to be shouted at again.

"Ah, there you are!" boomed Kevin. "Come in, come in."

Arthur took two small steps into the room, but didn't come any further. Douglas kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead of him.

"Here," said Kevin, reaching into his pocket. "I got you something. For your cough. My old mum swears by these."

Douglas rolled his eyes.  _"Et tu, Brute,"_  he muttered.

"Wow, thanks, Kevin," said Arthur, gratefully, "That's really -  _cough_  - nice of you."

"You're welcome. Let's hope it'll stop that awful cough of yours, eh?"

"Ooh, yes, I hope so. What flavour are they?"

"Um… Winter Berry."

"Ooh, lovely! Thanks very much!"

"Yeah, no problem. Here, have a couple. Now, how about some tea?"

"Righto. Will do! Thanks! Thank you!"

"Just try not to spill any this time, eh?"

 "Yes, sorry. I will. I mean, I won't! Spill it. I won't spill it. Sorry. Sorry!"

The moment he had left the room Douglas raised his eyebrows at Kevin.

"What?" said Kevin.

"What was all that about?"

"I don't know what you mean. I just bought him some cough sweets, that's all. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," shrugged Douglas. "Nothing at all."

"I was being  _nice._ "

"Hmm," said Douglas sceptically, "So you've changed your mind about grassing him up, have you?"

Kevin gave a little snort of laughter. "Oh, no. Definitely not. This is absolutely the last cup of tea he'll ever make on this plane. I just don't want to have to listen to him coughing for the rest of the bloody afternoon, that's all."

"Right. Nothing to do with assuaging your guilt, then?"

Kevin laughed.  _"No,"_  he said, firmly. “What have I got to be guilty about?”

Douglas was silent for a few moments, then he said, quietly, "He loves this job."

"Yeah. But he's  _bloody terrible_  at it."

Douglas had to concede that this was true.

Arthur returned five minutes later, carefully bearing two steaming cups of tea on a small tray. His natural ebullience seemed to have returned, for better or worse.

"Tea, tea, tea! One with sugar, one without. Thanksh for thoshe cough shweets, Kevin, I think they're working already!"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem."

"Tea, Douglash."

Douglas looked up sharply. "What?"

Arthur's smile faltered. He obviously thought Douglas was still angry with him. "Er... tea?" he said, timidly.

"No, say  _exactly_  what you just said to me."

"Tea, Douglash."

"Hmm. Now say,  _She Sells Seashells By The Seashore_."

"She shells shee shells by the sheeshore. Is thish a  _game?_  Ooh, isht quite good  _fun_ , ishn't it? Give me another one!"

Douglas turned to his first officer. "Kevin, quick question; what flavour are those cough sweets?"

"Winter Berry. Why?"

"Couldn't just check the list of ingredients for me, could you? Because I don't think that’s an actual fruit."

Kevin pulled out the packet and looked at it. "Sugar, Glucose Syrup, Glucose-Fructose Syrup, Water, Glycerol, Acids (E270, E330), Concentrated Blackcurrant Juice, Concentrated Raspberry Juice, Concentrated Strawberry Juice, Flavourings, Acidity Regulators (E25, E332), Lecithin.”

Douglas waited for the penny to drop.

"Any of those ingredients stand out for any special reason?"

Kevin's eyes widened. “ _Oh_. Oh, shit!"

"My sentiments exactly."

"But - strawberry isn't a winter berry! How was I supposed to know that was in it? They should  _say -_ they should say on the packet!"

Douglas turned back to Arthur, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Arthur."

"Yesh."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fide. Shtill god thish cough, bud I thig the cough shweeds are helpig."

" _Yesss._  I wouldn't be too sure about that, actually."

"Whaddyou mead?"

"Well… don't panic, but I think you might have just eaten something with strawberry in."

Arthur shook his head. "Do' thig sho."

"Right. I think you have. You're sounding a bit slurred there."

"Oh, ride. OK."

“You understand what I'm saying, Arthur? I think you might be having some sort of allergic reaction.”

Arthur nodded cheerfully. “OK!”

“So, I'm going to ask this again, and I want you to have a little think before you answer it for me. How are you feeling?”

“Fide.”

“Your throat isn't swelling up or anything?”

Another nod. “Oh, yeah. A bid.”

“Right. That doesn't sound  _good_ , Arthur.”

Arthur just smiled back at him blankly.

"What does your Mum usually do when thish -  _this!_  - happens?"

"Um… she hash to ushe the Epiped. Epiped.  _Ped_. Oh, I shee whad you mead."

"Good. And where's that kept?"

"Idda barfroom."

"Uh-huh. In the barf -  _bath_ room… at home?"

"Yesh."

"But as we're currently in an aeroplane, flying 30,000 feet over the Baltic Sea, that's not especially useful to us at present. Aren't you supposed to carry one around with you at all times?"

"Yesh."

"Well, where is it?"

"My bag."

"In the locker in the galley?"

"Yesh."

"Good,” said Douglas, getting to his feet. “Well, you just sit down in my chair there, and I'll go and get it."

 _"What?”_  exclaimed Kevin, “Don't leave me alone with him!"

"I'll be one minute. Don't panic, it's going to be fine."

"I wasn't panicking!"

"I meant, don't panic,  _Arthur_."

"OK!" said Arthur, cheerily, as Douglas gripped him by the shoulders and forced him down into the chair.

"And don't touch anything."

"Righdo!"

By the time Douglas returned, less than two minutes later, Arthur was in some difficulty. His breathing had become laboured, and it was clear that things were no longer  _"fide"._

“I – I -”

“Don't try to speak,” Douglas told him, in the calm, reassuring tone he learnt how to put on when he was a medical student, many years before.

“I'm sh- sh-”

“Arthur, if you try and tell me you're  _sorry_ , I swear I will  _let you die_.”

Arthur's eyes widened in shock, and Douglas realised the possibility hadn't even occurred to him. He could have bitten off his tongue.

“You're not going to die,” he said quickly. “It was just a joke. I was joking. Not funny, I know. Try not to panic.”

Too late. Arthur  _was_  panicking. He started coughing again, and this time didn't seem able to stop. His swollen throat made the cough worse, and coughing made it harder for him to take a breath. The rattling sound of him struggling to get air into his lungs was awful to hear.

“I cah – c _ough_. I cah – b- b-”

“I know.  _Please_  stop trying to talk. It's really not helping.”

Douglas thumped him hard between the shoulder blades several times, but to no avail. He swallowed down the panic he felt rise in his own chest. A cough was a short exhalation of air. If Arthur couldn't stop coughing, he'd be getting almost no air into his lungs at all, and in maybe two minutes, three at most, he was going to black out. Of course, if that happened, he'd stop panicking, stop coughing, and his body would do the breathing for him, but it was still preferable to have a conscious rather than unconscious steward on his hands.

Douglas gripped the Epipen firmly in his hand. He had a pretty good idea of how it worked, but he'd never had to deal with an allergic reaction before. There was a lot less of that kind of thing around when he was a medical student, a quarter of a century ago. Before Arthur was even born, in fact. He certainly didn't want to do anything without reading the instructions first. But time was of the essence, and Douglas was going to have to make a snap decision, and hope it was the right one. Calm him down first, get him breathing properly, and ensure the patient was stable before performing any kind of medical procedure. Especially one he had never performed before, and especially as it involved injecting Arthur in the thigh with a massive dose of Epinephrine, 30,000 feet above the Baltic Sea,  _on a plane_.

"'Kin hell, Douglas! His lips have gone blue!"

"Yes, thank you, Kevin. I can see that for myself, and I  _really_  don't think it's something Arthur needs to know either. Could you possibly keep your eyes on the road?”

He turned back to Arthur.

“OK, Arthur, what I want you to do is – look at me.  _Arthur_. Oh, shit.  _Arthur!_ ”

For half a second, no longer, Arthur's eyes had rolled back in his head. Without thinking, Douglas reached up and smacked him around the face, which caused Arthur to gasp in shock, inhaling a large gulp of air as he did so. Well, thought Douglas, ironically, that's  _one_  way to do it.

Arthur looked hurt and confused, as well he might.

“Wha?”

“Sorry. You went a bit – you sort of – sorry. Just stay with me, Arthur.  _Arthur._ Look at me. Nod so I know you understand what I'm saying. Good. OK, you need to try and breathe through your nose. Can you do that for me? No, you're just sniffing, that won't help. You need to inhale - breathe in - that's it - then exhale - breathe out – no, no, slower, slower… keep doing that for me, in… out…  _slowly_ … in… out… in… out… in… out… OK, that's excellent. Just keep doing that."

"Ngh ngh!"

"It's alright," said Douglas, gently, although he was trying to convince himself as much as Arthur. "Another minute and this will all be over. Just concentrate on breathing."

Arthur nodded mutely. He looked terrified, and suddenly very young.

He's a  _kid_ , Douglas realised, with a pang of guilt and self-loathing.  _He's just a kid_. Physically, an adult, but in every other way that mattered, a child. Only a few months younger than Claire, in fact. Except that Claire was bright, beautiful, talented, with a glittering future ahead of her, and Arthur was... none of those things. Douglas still hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Carolyn if there was something wrong with Arthur. There just wasn't a nice way to ask someone if their child was mentally deficient. And what difference would it make, really? He was a nice kid, and that was the only thing that mattered. Harmless. Well, no, not harmless. Definitely not that. Polite, though. Friendly. Helpful. Sometimes, too much so.

Here he was, just trying to do his best in his first proper job, and here they were, a couple of grown men with kids of their own, trying to get him sacked. Of course, Arthur's best was some of the worst stewarding Douglas had seen in more than twenty years of flying, but still… everyone had to start somewhere, didn't they? And everyone deserved a second chance. Even if it was actually their third or fourth or fiftieth chance.  _God_ , he needed a drink. Something about forty per cent proof should do it.

“You're doing brilliantly,” he told Arthur, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Nice and calm. That's great. Just keep doing that for me while I read these instructions.”

At the controls, Kevin was the one panicking.

“Shit, shit, shit!”, he kept repeating, unhelpfully. "What should we do? Should I try and land?"

"Well, since we're over the  _sea_ , Kevin, I'm not sure how helpful that will be." 

"Yeah, but should I radio ahead, do you think?"

"I think you should maybe just shut up and concentrate on flying the plane, and let me get on with sorting out a medical emergency. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yeah," squeaked Kevin.

Douglas turned back to his patient and resumed his special reassuring voice. “OK, Arthur, I'm going to inject you with the Epipen now. You know how this works, yes?”

Arthur nodded. “Ngh.”

“Good, so you know what I'm going to do. I'm afraid... that this is probably... going... to...”

_Jab._

“ _Ow!_  Thah really hurh!”

“Sorry. No, don't get up. Not yet. Stay there for a bit and rest. Don't forget to keep breathing through your nose. In and out, in and out, like I told you. That's it. Keep doing that for me until I tell you to stop. I'm just going to sat-com your mum so she can come and meet you at Fitton, alright? I don't think you should be driving.”

“Ngh.”

Douglas patted him on the shoulder and let out a long breath. “Good lad.”

 

* * *

 

After half an hour, Arthur had recovered enough for Douglas to be able to help him into the galley and belt him into his seat ready for landing.

“I'm shorry about your hand,” said Arthur, quietly. His speech was mostly back to normal, except for a slight lisp.

“What? Oh, it's fine. Don't worry about it.”

“Doesh it hurt?”

Douglas didn't answer. "Just sit here and rest," he said gently. "We'll be home soon."

Arthur nodded. "Thanksh, Douglash."

“You're welcome, Mr Bond.”

“What?”

“You sound like Sean Connery." He put on his best Scottish accent. " _It'sh_  the  _lishp_...”

Arthur managed a weak smile. “He'sh the besht Bond.”

“Oh, do you think so? I would have had you down for more of a Roger Moore fan.”

Arthur considered for a moment. “Well, Roger Moore'sh funnier... but Connery'sh shtill the  _besht_ , ishn't he?”

“Yes,” agreed Douglas, biting back a smile. “Yes, he is. Now, you're sure you'll be alright on your own? It's only for ten minutes.”

“I'm _fine_.”

Douglas sighed. Arthur would have told him he was fine even if he was bleeding from the eyeballs.

 

* * *

 

Back in the flight deck, Kevin shook his head and gave a low whistle as Douglas retook his seat.

"Alright, is he?"

"He will be."

“Jesus Christ, Douglas. We had bit of a lucky escape there.”

“I know,” said Douglas grimly. Now the adrenalin was wearing off, and he didn't have to keep up the facade for Arthur, he felt quite shaky.

“I mean, if anything had happened, Carolyn would have gone mental! She might even have blamed  _me!_ ”

Douglas stared at him, appalled. “Yes, what a lucky escape for  _you_.”

“Exactly! I mean, it's not like I did it on purpose, is it?”

“I should hope not.”

"Just goes to show, he's a liability. First he throws tea over the control panel, now this. We're employed to fly the plane, not babysit her stupid bloody kid.”

Douglas finally snapped. “ _Her stupid bloody kid_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, “Has just had a serious allergic reaction and might have  _died_ , thanks in large part to your  _incredible idiocy -”_

“Now, hang on!”

“And yet all  _you_  seem to care about is getting a telling off from the boss -”

“No, no, that's not what I said! I said -”

“No, that's right, I believe what you  _actually_  said was that we – the pilots - had had a bit of a  _lucky escape_. Well, someone on this plane has had a very lucky escape, I grant you, but it isn't  _us_ , you stupid, selfish, thoughtless  _fuckwit_.”

“You can't talk to me like that!”

“I can, and I have. My only regret is that I didn't do it sooner."

"Now, look here, Douglas. All I'm saying is, he's eighteen, he's legally an adult, if he's got an allergy it's up to him to ask what's in the things he puts in his mouth, isn't it? Not us. Stands to reason."

"Well, ye-es… but it's also up to us as human beings to try not to accidentally kill other human beings. You know,  _if at all possible_."

“Yeah, yeah, but he should have  _asked_ , shouldn't he?"

"He  _did_  ask."

"What?"

"He did ask. I  _heard_  him. And so, I think you'll find, did the cockpit voice recorder."

Kevin opened his mouth and closed it again. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded, indignantly.

"Au contraire. I am merely confirming the fact that he did ask, and that you didn't bother to check before giving him those sweets. Or is that not the case?"

"No, it is not!"

"Oh, it's  _not_ the case? I see. So then you're saying that you  _did_  check, saw that one of the ingredients could potentially cause a serious, possibly even fatal allergic reaction, and decided to give them to him anyway? I'm not sure, but I think that might be  _worse?_  Either way, you might want to climb off your high horse for a moment and consider whether you might, just possibly, be at fault here, so it might, just possibly, be a good idea to  _shut your mouth_. Now, please, don't talk to me again until we've landed at Fitton and I've got in my car and driven very far away from you. If I hear so much as a squeak from your direction, I promise you I will not be responsible for my actions. Do we understand each other?"

Kevin managed a terrified nod.

"Good. Oh, and, Kevin? If I find out you've made any sort of complaint about Arthur to Carolyn, even if you just mention in passing that your coffee's not quite as toasty warm as you'd like it to be, I'll be very happy to tell her everything. And I mean  _everything,_ including all those trips Arthur made to pick up your dry-cleaning, and all those times you got him to hoover your car or clean the toilets for a laugh... oh, and the fact that there may be some doubt as to whether you did this on purpose."

“But I didn't!” protested Kevin, his voice squeaky with fear. “It was an accident!”

“Well, that would be something Carolyn would have to decide for herself. Tell you what, we'll be landing in five minutes. You're more than welcome to get your side of the story in first. I won't stop you. Of course, the  _first_  thing she'll want to do is see her son, after his terrifying near-death experience. But after  _that_ , you just go right ahead.”

He didn't for a moment believe that Kevin had actually given Arthur those sweets on purpose. Kevin might be a colossal berk, but even he wouldn't do something that irresponsible. If Douglas had any doubts at all about his intentions, he would have had no qualms about telling Carolyn the second he got off the plane.

"You know, Dougie Boy," said Kevin, and there was a new hardness in his voice now, "You're not exactly blameless in all of this yourself. Who was it who kept sending him on all those wild goose chases around the airfield?”

Douglas didn't answer for a few moments, but when he did his voice was perfectly calm. “My name is  _Douglas_ ," he said, levelly. "And as I said before, you're perfectly welcome to get your side of the story in first. I won't stop you."

"You know what I'm wondering,  _Douglas?_  I'm wondering whether the cockpit voice recorder also managed to pick up that little incident earlier. You remember; the one where you yelled at him for about ten minutes and nearly made him cry?"

"Ye-es," said Douglas, guardedly. "I wonder."

"I  _bet_  you do. You know; you could lose your job over this."

"Yes. So could you."

"Yes. So could  _Arthur._ "

"Or  _all_ of us."

"Or  _none_  of us."

"It does seem somewhat unlikely that Carolyn would sack her  _entire staff_ , leaving no-one to fly the plane, losing a lot of business, and rendering herself bankrupt in the process."

"Exactly. It's much more likely that just  _one_  of us would go."

"Yes. That  _is_  much more likely."

“Yes.”

 _"Yes…_ and of the three options available, it strikes me that the  _least_  likely outcome is that Carolyn’s going to fire  _her son_.”

There was a short silence while they both digested this fact.

Kevin shook his head. “I am _not_ losing my job for that _cretin_ ,” he said, vehemently.

“I don't want to lose my job either, “ pointed out Douglas, reasonably. “I've got a baby on the way, in case you'd forgotten.”

"I mean,” Kevin continued, talking over him, “I'm just speculating here, but I wonder whether she might consider that me trying to do her poor, sick kid a favour by buying him some cough sweets for his sore throat, and  _accidentally_  causing an allergic reaction, was not  _quite_  as serious a crime as, oh, I don't know… you calling him a moron  _to his face."_

Douglas didn't have an answer for that. He couldn't remember half the things he had said to Arthur - he had been too angry for that - but he was fairly sure that none of them were going to sound very good when played back on the cockpit voice recorder.

"What's that, Dougie Boy? Speak up. I don't think I quite heard."

"You really are a deeply unpleasant little man, aren’t you?"

“And you're a smug, arrogant prick, and Arthur's – he's - he - he's not -”

“Not _what?_ ”

“Not all there.”

“Yes. But the thing is; that's not his fault. Whereas you _choose_ to be an arsehole.”

Kevin gave a derisive laugh. "Remind me. Which one of us started this whole blackmail thing again? Because I don't think it was me."

Douglas gripped the wheel tightly to stop himself punching Kevin in the face. Abusing each other was getting them nowhere, and knowing Kevin as he did, a black eye would be just the excuse Kevin needed to grass him up to Miss.

“Look,” he said, reasonably, “ _None_ of us want to lose our jobs -”

“Prepare for landing.

“ - and neither of us want Carolyn to hear that tape - What? _Oh!_ ”

They fell silent as the familiar approach to Fitton Airfield came into view beneath them, circled twice, and landed on the runway, pulling to a halt about a hundred feet from what they both immediately recognised as Carolyn's car.

"Well," said Douglas, tightly. “Here we are, then.”

“Yep. Here we are.”

 

* * *

Neither of them said a word to Carolyn about the events of that day. She seemed to assume – possibly from experience – that the purchasing of potentially lethal confectionery was Arthur's fault alone, and nobody bothered to correct her assumption. For several weeks afterwards, Douglas became something of a local hero, much to Kevin's fury. The ground crew even had a whip-round and bought him a bottle of whiskey. Not a good one, but he appreciated the gesture. Arthur, it seemed, was actually rather popular around the airfield. More popular than _Kevin_ , certainly. Douglas didn't know why he should be surprised by this. Of course, Arthur had practically grown up here. He'd been coming here for years with his parents, and must have known all the ground crew by name before he ever started working for MJN. Douglas rather enjoyed being a celebrity, even if it only lasted until a fox got onto the runway and everyone started talking about that instead. He didn't mind too much. By that time, Douglas had a tiny, beautiful, very noisy little distraction of his own.

It was just over a month later when Kevin arrived at work one morning and announced that he had some news.

“Just thought you'd like to know,” he said sourly, glaring at Douglas. “I'm moving on.”

“You're moving house?” exclaimed Arthur, excitedly, “ _Brilliant!_  Can I come and help you carry the boxes?”

“Moving  _on_ , not moving  _house_ ,” Kevin cut in, impatiently. “I've got another job. With a  _proper_  airline. You know, with more than one plane and lots of pretty stewardesses. I'll be operating out of Birmingham from now on.”

“Oh, no!” said Arthur. He sounded genuinely upset. “You're leaving MJN? But... why?”

A shrug. “Just fancied a change of scene.”

“Oh, no,” said Arthur again.

“Anyway,” said Kevin, when it became apparent that Douglas wasn't going to say anything, “I'd better go and tell Carolyn, I suppose.”

“Aw,” said Arthur sadly, when Kevin had gone. “I'm really going to miss Kevin.”

“ _Are_  you?!”

“Yeah, of course. MJN won't be the same without him.”

“No, well... I agree with you there.”

“I really liked him.”

Douglas stared at him in disbelief. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” shrugged Arthur, as though this was a self-evident fact. “He was nice, wasn't he?”

“Mm,” said Douglas, non-committally.  _Not to you._

“It's a shame he's leaving. Isn't it a shame, Douglas?”

“Yes,” said Douglas, and suddenly he couldn't stop smiling. “A terrible, terrible shame...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter, folks! And never fear, there will be a LOT more Arthur in Chapter 3. I can't promise how soon it will be up, though, because I'm getting the keys to my first flat this week, so there will be a million other things to distract me, like putting up curtains and unpacking hundreds of boxes. But hopefully by the end of February at the latest, then I can get back to Halfway To The Airport and some top-class angst again. In the meantime, I hope you liked Chapter 2, and do let me know what you thought, especially about how I've portrayed Douglas in this chapter.  
>  


	3. Prestwick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new pilot starts work at MJN… and we learn the origin of the pilots' cheese tray.

**Chapter Three: Prestwick**

 

"Good  _God_ ," thought Peter, stopping dead in the middle of the airfield. This surely couldn't be it? A Lockheed McDonnell 312! He hadn't realised any of those were still running. Wasn't it technically classified as an antique now? The door of the plane was open. Someone was obviously there already. He adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and walked up the steps.

"Hello?" he said tentatively.

The cabin was empty, as was the galley, although there were signs of life in the little pile of sliced lemons in a bowl on the worktop, a satchel hanging on a hook, and a half-drunk cup of tea.

"Hello?" he said again. “Is someone there?”

He pushed open the door to the flight deck and was immediately greeted by the sound of raucous cheering and shouting.

Two men were half-kneeling on the pilots' seats, hunched over the control panel and engrossed in some sort of game that involved rolling two Mini Babybel cheeses along the edge of the control panel in an attempt to score a "goal" into an upturned Brie box. As Peter watched, one of the cheeses bumped the other clean off the edge and onto the floor, and the younger man leapt to his feet and let out a delighted cheer.

" _Yes!_  I win! I win, Douglas! That's nine-all now!"

He held his hand in the air for a high-five, which was unforthcoming.

"Yes, well done," said the other man grudgingly, "I still think your cheese is heavier than my cheese, though. Why is your hand up? You don't need my permission to go to the toilet."

"High-five!"

"No."

"Aw,  _Douglas!_ "

"What for?"

"'Cos we're both  _brilliant_  at Babybel football! Come on, Douglas, high-five!"

“Well, that's one for the C.V.  _No_ , Arthur.”

Arthur reluctantly put his hand down.

"Right," said Douglas, purposefully, "This one for the decider, but let's swap cheeses this time, just to make sure it's fair. Now, where did that cheese go?"

Peter cleared his throat nervously, and they both looked around, startled. The younger of the two men was dressed in a steward's uniform that he didn't look nearly old enough to be wearing. He was also, for some reason as yet unexplained, wearing an airline captains' hat.

“Ah. H-hello. I'm Peter Wilson. I'm the new pilot. Are you the... uh... ?”

“Hello, Peter! Pleased to meet you. I'm Douglas, the captain, and this is Arthur, the steward. We're your happy little crew.”

Arthur thrust his hand out immediately and gave Peter an enthusiastic - and surprisingly firm - handshake.

“Hello! I'm Arthur, I'm the steward. Sorry, you're probably a bit confused because I'm wearing his hat.”

"I think he probably knows you're not the captain, Arthur. I know policemen are supposed to be getting younger, but I don't feel the world is  _quite_  ready for a nineteen-year old airline captain just yet. I mean, no offence, but I'm not convinced you have the requisite gravitas for the role."

"Yeah, but I'm just saying… he might  _think_  I'm the captain, because I'm wearing your hat."

"There is rather more to being an airline captain than the wearing of a hat. Not  _much_  more, admittedly. The hat is rather a large part of it."

"Maybe I could ask Mum if I could have my own hat? Then it would be less confusing."

"Well, it's an idea, certainly."

“ _Great!”_

“Not a  _good_  one, though… What sort of hat did you have in mind?"

"Dunno. Maybe I could try on some different ones and see which one's more… stewardy? Or I could make my own!"

"Mm. Did you know, Arthur, that Peter here used to work at Air France? Was this the sort of thing you got up to there, Peter? Competitions to decide quelque chapeau et plus… stewardy?"

"Well… not really…"

"Quelle surprise."

Peter cleared his throat. “Is that... cheese?”

"Douglas really likes cheese,” piped up Arthur.

"What can I say?" shrugged Douglas, airily. "I'm just really fond of cheese. And, of course, the happy side-effect is that Arthur doesn't have to waste his valuable time cooking the pilots' dinners. It's very hard to mess up a cheese tray. You don't even need to put it in the fridge. Cheese is an entirely Arthur-proof dish."

"Well, there was that time in Geneva when I tried to make fondue in the microwave…"

"Yes, thank you, Arthur, I was trying to block that out. When I say that's it very hard to mess up a cheese tray, it is of course, not impossible, as has been so painfully proved by my young friend here."

"Hey, the skin grafts have all healed now!"

"Ah, some of the seven least comforting words in the English language. And here are another seven. I'm afraid, Peter, that  _I need to frisk you for strawberries_..."

“Wh-what?”

“I need to frisk you for strawberries. Sorry, what did you  _think_  I'd said?”

“Well... not  _that_.”

“Three things you should know about Arthur. One, he's the boss's son, so be nice to him. Two, he's horribly allergic to strawberries, so don't give him any. Three -  _yes_ , Arthur? You can put your hand down.”

"Oh, I know this one, it's -"

"It's not a quiz! And if it was, I rather think you'd be disqualified from entering."

"Oh, no, would I? Why?"

"Well… because you  _might_  be considered to have a bit of an inbuilt advantage."

Arthur looked blank. "Would I?"

Douglas made a noise of frustration. "Yes, of course! Because - oh, never mind. Tell you what, why don't you go and give Peter here the tour of the plane? A nice  _long_  tour, with lots of  _detail_ …"

“ _Brilliant!_ “ Arthur was already halfway through the door. “Come on, Peter, we can start in the galley!”

“Er... OK. Great! Sorry, Douglas, I don't think you told me what Number Three was?”

“No, I didn't, did I? Well, you're about to find out. And to paraphrase Bette Davis in  _All About Eve_ ; fasten your seatbelt, it's going to be a bumpy flight!”

“ _What?_  Why?”

“Well, not literally. I am an  _excellent_  pilot. Which reminds me;  _Arthur!_ "

Arthur stuck his head back around the door again.

"Hat, Arthur."

"What?"

" _Hat_. My hat. Your head."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry!" He took off the hat and handed it back to Douglas.

"Why were you wearing his hat?" asked Peter, curiously. "Was it part of the game?"

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"

Douglas heaved a resigned sigh. "No, he just really likes wearing my hat."

"I just really like wearing his hat," shrugged Arthur, happily.

"Oh," said Peter. "Well, that’s… fair enough, I suppose."

"Come on, Peter," said Arthur, eagerly. "I thought I'd start with the microwave.”

Douglas bit back a smile. “Have you  _seen_  a microwave before, Peter?”

“Er... yes.”

“Well, you're in for a treat.”

Feeling increasingly out of his depth, Peter followed Arthur into the galley.

"This is brilliant!" said Arthur, excitedly. "I've never done a tour for a pilot before, because Kevin - that's the pilot who was the pilot before you were the pilot - was already here when I started, so he gave  _me_  the tour. Ooh, the word pilot's gone all funny on me. Pilot.  _Pi-lot_. Although I didn't really need a tour because this used to be my dad's plane, so I've been on it loads of times - well, not loads of times, a couple of times, and he didn't let me wander around on my own in case I broke something - I've actually only been in the cockpit once, and I was four, so I don't really remember much about it - although obviously I've been in it loads of times since then because I work here now - I was in it just now, in fact - well, you know that because you were there -”

Peter was beginning to get an inkling of what the third thing about Arthur he should know might be.

Arthur put on his most professional-sounding voice. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. l mean, gentlemen. l mean, gentle _man_. Good morning,  _sir_. Welcome to MJN Air. Thank you for choosing to fly with us today. My name is - oh, hello, Douglas!"

Peter whipped round. Douglas had come silently into the galley and was standing behind him wearing a wryly amused expression. And his hat.

“I thought I might join your tour, Arthur, if that's alright.”

Arthur looked as though all his Christmases had come at once. “Of course!” he beamed, “The more the merrier!”

“Yes, I heard a bit of it from the flight deck and thought to myself, “ _I can't miss this!”_

“Great!” said Arthur. “Er... I've sort of lost my place a bit now.”

“My fault,” said Douglas apologetically, “Whenever you're ready.”

“Hang on, I'll start again from the beginning.”

“Oh, happy day.”

“Good morning, sir.  _Sirs_.  _Gentlemen!_  Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to MJN Air! Thank you for choosing to fly with us today. My name is Arthur and I'll be your steward for the duration -”

“Sorry, Arthur,” interrupted Douglas, politely. “We do already know your name.”

“Yes,  _you_  do, but the  _passengers_ don't.”

“But we're  _not_  passengers. Clues to this being our hats and our uniforms.”

“No, I know, but I don't have a separate tour for pilots, because you were already working here when I started working here, so you didn't need a tour of the plane, and Peter's the first new pilot who's started working here since I started working here, so I haven't done the tour for a pilot before. Only passengers.”

“Could you not just do the same tour that you do for passengers, but without introducing yourself?”

Arthur looked blank. “I don't think so.”

Douglas bit back a sigh. “Right. As you were, then.”

"Honestly, Douglas,” scolded Arthur, “If you keep interrupting, this tour is going to last  _forever_...”

“As opposed to just  _feeling_  like it is?"

"Good morning, gentlemen. Thank for you flying with MJN Air. My name is Arthur, and -"

"Sorry, Arthur, but you really don't need to thank us for flying with MJN. We're the ones doing the flying, remember? If anything, we should be thanking  _you_  for flying with  _us_."

"Oh, no!" wailed Arthur, frustrated. “Sorry, Peter.”

“That's quite alright,” said Peter, trying not to sound too relieved. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Yeah.  _No_ . I - I'm going to  try again. Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for flying - ah, ah -  _the plane!_ I didn't say it! I nearly did, but then I didn't!”

“Well done,” said Douglas dryly. "Get yourself a little trophy."

“Aw, thanks, Douglas! What a nice thing to say. Um _._.. where was I?”

He was interrupted once more, this time by the arrival of Carolyn.

“Oh, good, I see everyone's met. Could I borrow Peter for a minute? There are some forms he needs to sign.”

“ _Mu-um!”_  protested Arthur, “I'm giving him the tour of the aeroplane!”

"Well, in that case, I'm going to need to borrow Peter for quite a lot longer than a minute, so that your tour is over by the time he finishes.”

 She ushered Peter off the plane, and Douglas and Arthur were left alone in the galley.

“Maybe I could do the tour just for you?” suggested Arthur, hopefully.

“Arthur, I've been working here for _two and a half years_. I don't need a tour. And what's more, I don't want one either. What I _want_ to do is read my book. I came in early this morning specially, in fact. Not much peace and quiet at home at the moment, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“OK. What should I do, then?”

“I'm sure you'll think of something.”

“Oh, I know – I could make some notes for Peter's tour! I always remember things better if I write them down. Will you have a look through it afterwards, Douglas, and let me know if I've got anything wrong?"

Douglas pretended to consider for a moment. "Yes," he said eventually, "Yes, I think I can manage that."

 

* * *

 

 _Sans_ Arthur, the flight deck was blissfully quiet, and Douglas let out a contented sigh as he settled into his seat and opened his book. The new pilot seemed nice enough, if a little nervous and understandably bemused by the unusual set-up at MJN. He chuckled to himself. It was probably quite a bit different from Air France. Still, he had managed not to be rude to Arthur yet, which was one step up on the last pilot. Douglas had learned that you had to  _earn_  the right to be rude to Arthur.

It had taken Douglas several months to work out how to talk to the young steward. It went against his entire being not to spew out a sarcastic retort pretty much every time Arthur spoke, but sometimes he could hear echoes of Kevin in his responses, and he didn't like that. In the end, he'd taken a leaf from Carolyn's book. She made absolutely no allowances for her son. If he said or did something stupid, she would tell him as much. She treated him no differently than she did her pilots, the ground staff, or anyone else she came into contact with, and that included paying customers, for whom she reserved her greatest contempt. Arthur seemed to be used to it, it just rolled over him like the proverbial water off a duck's back. "Sorry, Mum!" he'd say cheerfully, then do the same thing all over again five minutes later.

Kevin might prefer to work for a “proper” airline, but Douglas liked working for MJN. Working for such a small company gave him certain... _opportunities_ ... that he would not have at a larger airline, seeing how frustrated Carolyn got with her son provided daily amusement, and not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but he'd become quite fond of the boy. He still wanted to strangle him at least eight times a day, of course. But it turned out that Arthur's default response of saying yes to everything he was asked to do could be exploited for good as well as evil.  _Kevin_  would never have entertained the idea of Babybel football.

Douglas had barely read three pages of the latest chapter of his book, when the door opened and Arthur came in. He didn't speak, just hovered behind Douglas's chair. Douglas kept his eyes fixed on the page and pretended not to notice. After a few minutes, however, it became apparent that Arthur wasn't going to say anything, and it was impossible to concentrate with someone literally breathing down his neck. He sighed and put down his book.

"How's the tour guide coming along?"

"Yeah. Um... Not… not brilliant, to be honest."

"Oh. Shame."

"I might… I might do it at home later."

"Good idea."

Douglas picked up his book again, as if to signal that the conversation was at an end, but Arthur still didn't move.

“... Douglas?”

“Arthur.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“If you must.”

“Great! Well, there's this girl -”

“Can I stop you there?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Carry on.”

“Anyway, she's really nice and we're really good friends, and -”

“You'd like to be more than just friends with her?”

“How did you  _know?_ ” gasped Arthur, impressed.

“Lucky guess. What's her name, this girl?”

“Liss.”

“Liz?”

“Liss.”

“Liv?”

“ _Liss_. With two S's.”

“Is that a name?”

“It's  _her_  name.”

“Short for... Melissa, I suppose?”

“Alison.”

“Of course.”

Douglas rubbed his eyes wearily. The prospect of having to give Arthur -  _Arthur!_  - "the talk" was not a happy one. In fact, he would go as to far as to say there probably wasn't anything in the world he would rather do less, and that included root canal surgery and spending another five minutes in a room with Kevin.

"Wouldn't you rather speak to, I don't know, your  _dad_  about this?”

Arthur frowned. “We don't really – he's not really – I haven't – I don't –"

“Just say  _no_ , Arthur.”

“No.”

“ _Fine._ So, this girl… what's she like, then?"

Arthur's whole face seemed to glow as though lit by some inner sun.

“She's  _lovely_...” he sighed.

“Well, that's a start, certainly. And do you think she likes you?”

“Yeah, of course. We're friends.”

“Yes. I meant, do you think she fancies you?”

Arthur giggled, and Douglas buried his head in his hands. Well, he'd rather walked into that one, hadn't he?

Arthur became serious again. “How can I tell... if... if she...?”

“Well, do you ever spend any time alone together?”

“Not really. We just hang out in a big group. She's my friend Jeremy's sister.”

“Ah. And that's the problem?”

“Is it?”

“No, I was asking you. Is that the problem?”

“Is what the problem?”

“Would your friend Jeremy be happy with you seeing his sister?”

“Oh. I don't know. Wouldn't he?”

“How should I know? I've never met him."

"OK, but it sounded like you were saying he wouldn't be happy about it."

"Yes. Sorry. Right. I thought that was the whole point of this conversation.”

“No.”

“ _Right._  So what  _is_  the point of this conversation, if indeed there is one, as I'm increasingly beginning to doubt?”

“Well, I just wanted to know... you know... how you ask a girl out. I thought, since you've been married twice, you'd be the best person to ask.”

“Yes. Interesting extrapolation there. Anyway, didn't you say you had a girlfriend a couple of years ago? How did you ask her out?”

“Oh, well, I didn't really. I used to have a Saturday job in a shoe shop and Pobs got a summer job there.”

“ _Pobs?”_ repeated Douglas, incredulously.

Arthur nodded.

_"P-o-b-s?"_

"Yep."

“What the hell is  _that_  short for?”

Arthur frowned, as though it was the first time such a question had occurred to him. “I'm not really sure.”

“Didn't you ask?”

“Nope.”

“How long were you going out?”

“Mm... two months and a bit.”

“Two whole months!”

“And a bit. Basically, the whole of the summer holidays.”

“Ah, a summer romance!”

“Yeah. Anyway, so I never actually had to ask her out, because we were already friends. Not like boy and girlfriend, just friends. And then we were up in my bedroom one day and she -”

Douglas cut him off quickly. "Yes, yes, alright. Spare me the details. But you're already friends with Liv - Liz - this other girl too, aren't you? So why is it suddenly a problem?”

“Well, because I  _want_  to ask her out.”

“So, do it.”

“But how?”

“It's not difficult. You just ask her, "Do you want to come to the cinema with me?"

"Why the cinema?"

"It doesn't  _have_  to be the cinema, that was just an example. It can be anywhere you like. The park, or the pub, or -”

“The  _pub?!_ ”

“I don't know! Whatever it is you kids do in your spare time these days. Bowling. Reading French poetry to one another. Laserquest.”

“So I just...  _ask_  her?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, it really is that simple.”

“Right,” said Arthur, doubtfully.

“Look, the worst that can happen is that she can say no.”

Arthur brightened. “Yeah! Yeah, maybe I -”

“... or, she could say yes, you could fall in love, get married, have kids, and then a couple of years down the line it'll all fall apart in a horribly messy divorce that costs you thousands of pounds in useless lawyers, you'll end up hating each other's guts, you'll be bankrupted by child support costs, which is ironic because your kids blame _you_ for the split and won't ever speak to you again, and you'll end up living alone and miserable in a bedsit above a kebab shop and drinking yourself to death on cheap whisky -”

Douglas caught himself and stopped abruptly, embarrassed. Where the hell had _that_ little outburst come from? Fortunately, Arthur, as ever, was incapable of joining the dots.

"Oh, I don't think  _that_  will happen," he said, breezily.

"No, I'm sure it won't."

"I mean, I don't even  _like_  whisky!"

“...yes...” said Douglas.

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me... don't forget what I said the other day; if you ever need a babysitter... I'm your man!”

"Yes, thank you, Arthur. I can assure you that I have  _not_  forgotten."

"You won't even have to pay me. I just really love kids."

“Because you  _are_  one.”

“I want to have lots and lots of kids when I get married.”

“ _You_ want to get married?” repeated Douglas, incredulously.

“Yeah, of course. Doesn't everybody?”

“Funnily enough, Arthur, they  _don't_. Teenage boys, almost never.”

"Well, I do. Not now, obviously, because I'm too young, but in, like, ten years or something. I'd like to have a really big family. 'Cos Dad's family all live in Australia, you see, so I've never met them, and Mum's all live in Lancashire, and that's a hundred miles away, and anyway, Mum and Aunty Ruth don't really - yeah, so it's always just been me and Mum.”

“And your dad, surely.”

“Mm. Yeah. So, what about it? The babysitting? I'm free Saturday."

"It's very kind of you, but I'm not sure I'm ready to leave my precious three-month old baby daughter alone with an unqualified teenager _just_  yet. I mean, have you even  _had_  any experience looking after children? Apart from  _yourself_ , obviously…"

"Well… no…"

"Know how to change a nappy? Or what temperature baby milk should be heated to? Or what you should do if you see a rash?"

"No, but -"

"Then if you don't mind, I'll pass.”

Arthur wasn't giving up just yet. "It doesn't have to be for the whole night. It could just be for an hour or so…. you know, if you wanted to go out for a… a drink or something."

"Perhaps when she's a bit older…"

Arthur brightened. "Great!"

"… about eighteen years older…"

"I think you mean eighteen months."

"No, I don't."

"But that doesn't make any sense. What do you mean? Eighteen  _years_  older? But then she'd be…” He frowned. “... eighteen?"

"That's right."

"I don't understand."

Douglas was saved from a potentially long and painful explanation by the reappearance of Carolyn and Peter. Arthur jumped up from Peter's chair immediately.

"Brilliant! Can I give Peter the tour now?"

 _"No,"_  said Carolyn firmly. "Fog's finally cleared up at Prestwick, so we take-off in half an hour. Peter, can I leave you to familiarise yourself with the flight deck instrument panel? Splendid. Douglas. Arthur. Galley. _Now._ "

"Well, since you asked so  _nicely_ …" 

The glare that Carolyn gave Douglas could have frozen the sun.

"Peter seems nice, doesn't he?" enthused Arthur, the moment Carolyn had closed the door behind them.

"Yes, he does. Now, Arthur -"

"It's gonna be great not being the new boy anymore."

"In many ways, dear heart, I suspect you will  _always_  be the new boy. Now, listen to me, please. You too, Douglas."

"I'm all ears."

Arthur laughed out loud, and Carolyn raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Sorry, Mum. I was just picturing Douglas covered in ears."

"Yes. Hilarious though that mental image may be, I do actually have a work matter to discuss. Peter is with us on a three-month trial basis, at the end of which MJN can either make his contract permanent, or release him into the wild. Alternatively, and if for some strange reason he does not wish to continue his employment with MJN, he can bugger off to Birmingham like Kevin before him. Shut up, Douglas.”

"I didn't say anything!"

"Yes, I know. I was pre-empting that eventuality. Now, in case you are unaware of the fact, finding a pilot willing to move to godforsaken Fitton for the kind of salary I pay, is not an easy task. God knows, I didn't like Kevin -"

"Didn't you, Mum? Why not?"

Carolyn sighed. "Nobody liked Kevin. He was… unlikeable."

" _I_  liked him."

"You like everyone, dear."

"Douglas liked him too."

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"Yeah, he said he did."

Douglas made a face. "I don't think I  _did_ …"

"You didn't like him?"

"….no."

Carolyn shook her head. "Surely even  _you,_ Arthur, cannot have failed to notice that the atmosphere in the flight deck these last few months has been frostier than a polar bear in a refrigerator?"

“No. I mean, yes. I mean -”

"And did it not occur to you to wonder why Douglas suddenly started paying for his own room on stopovers, rather than have to share with Kevin?"

" _Ohhhh_. No."

Douglas opened his mouth and closed it again. Actually, that was  _not_  the reason that Douglas had started paying for his own hotel room. Ostensibly, it was because he wasn't getting much sleep at home with a newborn in the house, but mostly it was because he knew that Kevin would absolutely  _hate_  having to share a room with Arthur, and making Kevin's life a misery was worth every penny it cost him. Arthur didn't mind sharing - for some reason, being an only child, he seemed to find it rather an exciting prospect, "like a sleepover!" - but it drove Kevin to distraction. Really, Douglas could not have planned it better. Kevin couldn't have lasted more than a week before deciding to look for a new job.

"I didn't even  _notice_ ," exclaimed Arthur. "Now I come to think about it, though, it  _has_  been a few weeks since Douglas and I shared a room…"

"It has been three months," said Carolyn, crisply. "Did you think Douglas was just such a lucky pilot that he always won the coin toss for the single room?"

"Well...  _yeah_."

"To be fair, it does  _sound_  like me," grinned Douglas. "And just to be clear, Carolyn, the situation was very much a  temporary one. I shall be returning to the usual room-sharing roster now that -"

"- we have a new pilot. Yes, I thought that might be the case. So it's back to me paying for two rooms again, is it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, seeing as you're now costing me money again, it is even more imperative that you don't scare off Peter."

_"Me?"_

"Yes, you. We simply cannot afford to keep losing pilots. Arthur, are you listening?"

"I can't believe you didn't like Kevin."

"Oh, for -  look, I'll spell it out for you _. I_  didn't like Kevin.  _Douglas_ didn't like Kevin. Kevin was a hateful, miserable, whinging little man who we are frankly all better off without."

"Well,  _I_  thought he was nice," muttered Arthur, defiantly.

"Oh, you thought he was nice, did you? Would you still think that if I told you he asked me to fire you?"

Arthur paled. "Wh-what?"

 _"What?"_  shouted Douglas.

_That sneaky little…_

"That's right. It was a couple of months ago. I won't repeat his long and tedious list of complaints, but he basically told me that if I didn't get rid of you, I'd find myself short one pilot."

"And what did  _you_  say?" demanded Douglas, furiously.

"I told him I didn't like being threatened, and that if he wasn't able to co-operate with other people, perhaps he should consider looking for a job in a different line of work."

" _Ha!_  And what did  _he_  say?"

"He didn't say anything, just pulled that sour face of his. I can only presume that he went home and reflected on the matter, and decided that perhaps MJN was not the company for him after all."

" _Ha_ ," said Douglas again, triumphantly. It seemed that between the three of them; Douglas blanking him, Carolyn refusing to consider his ultimatum, and Arthur… being himself, they'd successfully, and without even realising it, joined together to rid MJN of a thorn in its' side. He'd give Arthur a high-five, but then he would have to explain why, and Arthur didn't even know that he'd done anything. Oh, what the hell.

"Well  _done_ , Arthur!" he exclaimed, holding his hand aloft expectantly.

Arthur, however, did not return the gesture.

"So it's my fault he left?" he asked, in a plaintive voice.

"Absolutely not," said Carolyn, firmly.

"Yeah, but if -"

"No, but nothing. It is nobody's fault Kevin left but his own."

_"Well -"_

"Shut up, Douglas. I'm sure you'd love to take the credit, but the fact is - oh, goodness, look at the time! Douglas, have you done the walk-around yet?"

"No -"

"Well, what are you waiting for? 

"Well, I -"

"That was a rhetorical question!  _Arthur!_ " 

Her tone was such that Arthur actually stood to attention. "Yes, Mum!"

"Have you made tea for Peter yet?"

"Oh! No, I haven't really had the -"

"Well, get to it, then! What have you been  _doing_  all morning? No, don’t answer that. I don't care."

"Do you want tea as well?"

"Did I  _ask_  for tea?"

"Um… no?"

"Then I do not  _want_  tea. First rule of stewarding, Arthur; if the passenger does not ask for something, don't give it to them. And if they  _do_  ask for something, you should still give it very serious consideration before complying. Now; are you in for dinner tonight? I thought I might do a moussaka.”

“Ooh, lovely. Can I let you know?”

“Of course.”

“Only I might... go to the cinema. And Laserquest. And bowling.”

“Heavens! How can my moussaka possibly compete with that parade of earthy delights?”

“Oh, but I _love_ your moussaka -”

“That was also a rhetorical question, Arthur.”

“Oh, OK.” He frowned. “I don't know what that means.”

Carolyn sighed. “Weren't you going to go and make tea for Peter?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Well, do you think you could go and _do_ it, please?”

“Yes, I will.”

He still didn't move.

“Are you still here?"

"Oh! Yes! No! Sorry, Mum!"

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later, captain and steward were back in the flight deck, Douglas panting slightly from a brisker-than-usual walk-around, and Arthur bearing tea.

“So did you live in France, then, Peter?” asked Arthur, eagerly.

“Arthur, just because Peter worked for Air France, doesn't mean he lived there. They fly from Birmingham.”

“Actually, we did live in Paris for a while, but then my wife's mother became ill, so we came back here.”

“Ah, yes, the City of Light... romantic Fitton.”

“Actually, we live in Coventry.”

“Ah, yes, the City of Light... romantic Coventry.”

“I've been to Paris,” piped up Arthur. “It was great!”

“You've been to Orly Airport, Arthur. That's like saying you've been to London because you once spent three hours in the crew lounge at Stansted.”

“Ah, yeah. It was still great, though. There was a shop just selling baguettes! Nothing else! Just baguettes!”

"Imagine," said Douglas, dryly.

"Well, I don't have to, because it already exists.” He laughed, and shook his head. “Honestly, Douglas, I  _just_  said that.”

"Yes, you did, didn't you? Peter, changing the subject, you remember earlier when you asked what the third thing about Arthur you ought to know was?"

"Oh, er… yes?"

"No sarcasm detector."

 _"Hey!"_  protested Arthur, indignantly. "Well, no, that  _is_  true, though. Mum says -”

“Sorry to interrupt, Arthur,” said Peter, anxiously. “Sorry, Douglas, I don't want to... I mean, _you're_ the captain... but, er... aren't we supposed to be taking off in four minutes?”

“Good lord!” exclaimed Douglas, glancing at his watch. “You're quite right. _Arthur!_ ”

“I know, I know, I'm going...”

“No, I meant; four minutes is just enough time for one last round of Babybel football.”

“ _Hooray!”_

“Best of ten, so winner takes it all. If I win, you have to... hoover my car for the next month.”

“OK. And if I win?”

Douglas thought for a moment. “I'll let you wear my hat.”

“Best deal _ever!_ ”

Douglas turned to Peter, who had gone a funny grey colour. “Welcome to MJN Air. Oh, and one last thing...”

“Yes?” said Peter, warily.

“I believe you may be standing on my cheese.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you are able, please do let me know what you thought by leaving a review. Thank you! Now I'm going to dive back into the pit of despair that is Chapter 4 of Halfway To The Airport. Quite a change of pace...
> 
> Shappeybunny x


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